I’d thought it was a warning about the dog that tried to attack me in the park, but now I’m wondering if it had been bigger than that. If all of the signs that I’ve been noticing have really been trying to give me context for this moment; trying to make sure that I got here, trying to make sure I was ready.

  The dog stalks out of the woods. Grim’s visage has his back turned toward the woods. His father steps out of the house, sees the dog, and vanishes back inside without saying anything. The dog jumps on Grim’s shadow from behind, sinking fangs into him. Blackness of a new sort spatters and bursts over the surface of the oval, like blood being flung at a screen or mold springing to life somewhere.

  The hound of Hell, that’s what the Double had been talking about, and standing here now, I can see it in this reflection; I can see it in the way that the dark emotions shimmer and transform into Grim’s past memory, finally giving us the answers that had been so elusive.

  But these answers are not kind.

  Mnemosyne talks over the image of Grim being mauled by the dog,

  Grim’s death came too early,

  A curse for his father’s sins. This made Fate’s sister very surly,

  And so she deemed that Grim’s life would begin again.

  Grim’s shadow gets away from the dog and makes it to the door. He pounds on it, but his father simply closes the curtains. The dog gets him again, ripping him to shreds. It’s a brutal, cruel death. When Grim is still on the ‘ground,’ the dog turns and walks away, only to transform into another old crone. This one has no hood but long hair instead.

  She walks over to where Grim is lying, bloody and ripped asunder by the dog. There’s a burst of brightness, and then rather than a human guise, it’s the Grim I have fallen in love with that appears in the oval; a skeleton in a Reaper’s robe. The old woman that brought him into being is nowhere to be seen.

  The house sinks back into the ‘ground,’ as does the forest. It’s just Grim’s skeletal visage standing there then.

  Mnemosyne says,

  Every balance must be fixed,

  And so a human becomes a creature of order.

  When death and life are fully mixed,

  New beings are given heavy burdens to shoulder.

  The visage of Grim lifts up one hand, seemingly waving at us, and then melts into the ground as well. The oval breaks, and the tar falls back into the puddle on the stone floor of the cave. The brightness is gone, just like that, not even an after image in its wake.

  I let out a breath of anticipation. It seems loud in the sudden silence. Even Mnemosyne’s voice has stopped, the echo gone and my own voice returned to me.

  I’m still gripping onto Grim’s robe sleeve. At some point, my fingers curled so tightly that it made my knuckles appear white. Letting go of the oil-slick fabric makes my fingers ache.

  “Grim?” I question softly.

  I can’t imagine what the Reaper must be feeling now, the answers to everything laid out before us. Not just the answer on how to become a Reaper myself, but the answer to this: who was he in the past? What was his family like? What was he like? How did he die, and was it a worthy death?

  The omens I’ve been writing down in my journal all feel as though they have finally pieced together but… I don’t feel successful for it. This must be what Wil feels like daily, I think. To solve the mystery of his omens, only for it to result, each time, in a mortal’s death.

  “Grim,” I say again. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” says Grim, though it’s not at all convincing. “I’m fine.” Another long pause. “We should go.”

  I want to protest; there might be more answers to be found if we venture deeper into the Cave of Memories. But then again, do we need them? Do we really need to know what those first days of Reaping were like? Is that going to change my opinion on what I’m going to do?

  No. It’s not.

  We learned what we came here for, so I nod my head, slide my hand from his sleeve to his bony palm, and start back out of the cave with him. Grim is silent as we walk, I can’t blame him. The way he died… No wonder there were such awful emotions coming off of that Double.

  When the shadowed version of Grim had first appeared, the sheer amount of grief and anger that came from him was enough to steal my breath away. As a medium, every ounce of emotion that came from the Double had been magnified, freezing me in place. I had barely been able to get myself to move at the end there.

  And now, we both know why it had felt like that. We both know that it had been a darkness, a shadow, a version of Grim that had never forgotten his death. Maybe it’s a good thing that Reapers can’t usually remember. If they are always created by an imbalance in the world, by a disruption of Destiny, then… Maybe they are always killed in a manner like that.

  Violent and hateful. Angry. A scorning of a deity, and a dismissal of a parent. Would my mother have done that? We don’t get along, not really. She always wants more from me. She always wants to push me higher, and harder, and get without giving.

  What I’ve done with my photography studio, it’s never made her proud.

  But… Would she lock me outside, so a dog could kill me?

  I don’t think she would. No, I’m certain of it.

  To think that Alistair could have done that to his child—to Grim! It’s a startling thought. I understand the silence, and let it exist around us as we make our way back through the Cave of Memories and into the patchwork world just beyond it.

  The hedge dome is already visible. There, the Goddess of Memories and Wil are waiting for us.

  I pause. “Wil’s going to want to know what we saw.”

  Grim is silent, then he tilts his head to the side. “And we’ll tell him. The past already happened. And… That was me, but… It doesn’t feel like it’s me.” The Reaper lets go of my hand, in favor of curling his fingers into the front of his robes. “It feels as if we watched someone else’s life.”

  “Does it?” I pause. “That’s a good thing then, isn’t it?”

  Grim cocks his head. “How so?”

  “Because what we saw—it doesn’t change what’s happening now,” I point out. “It was horrible. But to me, you aren’t the person in that memory. You’re the Reaper I’ve always known…that I love now.”

  His mouth curves up into a smile, just a fleeting one. He reaches out, the tips of his phalanges brushing lightly over my cheek. It’s a gesture that he makes a lot, and one that never fails to get my heart fluttering in my chest.

  Everything that just happened, but the fact remains that… We’re here now. We exist in this moment, in this time, in this version of reality. That Double? He wasn’t Grim. He never will be. And the troubles that we’re about to face, well, they’re more important than things that happened centuries ago that cannot be changed.

  Grim and I step back into the hedge dome feeling more at peace with the events that took place in that cave.

  Mnemosyne is sitting in the winter section of the hedges, a small red cardinal on her shoulder. The bird takes flight when it sees us, only to freeze in mid air. There’s a burst of blood on its small form as though it has just been shot. The bird drops to the ground and rapidly decays into bones, then vanishes.

  Wil makes a face, quick to leave behind the snowy dome and hurry over to us. The Omen twines between our legs as though he really is just a cat. I catch the briefest rumbles of a purr before he pulls away, all sharp, disdainful business again.

  “What happened?” he asks us.

  Grim informs him, “We know what creates a Reaper. We can leave.”

  I know that he’s startled and sorting through a lot, but that seems like an incredibly rude way to say goodbye to a goddess. I’m quick to bow to Mnemosyne and say, “Thank you for your help, my lady.”

  My lady? Is that the right way to refer to her?

  I’m not sure. It gets me a smile from Mnemosyne and a flick of the ear from Wil, so it can’t be the wrong way to do it, I figure.

  “You have journeyed far to seek your answers. Now that you have them, what will you do?” Mnemosyne asks, and then, with a laugh, “Don’t tell me! I will learn of it soon enough. Once the memory is yours, it is mine!”

  Wil, under his breath, says, “She has too many people in her brain. Let’s get out of here.”

  That seems like a sad thought. All of those memories, and none of them are her own. I reach down, plucking a flower from the spring patch, and quickly hurrying over to where the goddess sits. The snow crunches under my boots.

  I give her the flower and say, “My first offering to you, my lady,” and then turn and quickly rush back over to Wil. We leave without the goddess gracing us with a response; she seems stunned silent by my actions.

  Wil takes the lead, and we let him guide us through the patchwork land. He doesn’t ask for details, and seems to be focusing only on making his way through this strange world without being blown away by the wind.

  Grim tries to pick him up again, but the Omen darts out of the way with a lash of his tail. Wil snaps, “I’ve been treated enough like an animal for one day.”

  “Did she think you a sweet cat?” Grim asks, the first note of teasing that I’ve heard from him since we watched the memory of his death.

  Wil’s ears flatten against the curve of his skull. He hisses and growls and keeps walking, faster, longer strides now. We have to hurry to keep up with the little four-legged beast. He moves fast as a cat does, long legged and swift.

  I can’t help but wonder if he really is that unhappy with how the goddess treated him, or if he can just tell that Grim needs the distraction. Either way, it makes the journey through the patchwork world seem to go that much faster.

  We hurry along, and soon enough, the fence comes into view in the distance, and then the gate. I’m expecting the Guardian of the Gate, Willomina, to still be there, but she’s not.

  Instead, another Reaper stands at the gate. Wil comes to a sudden stop, spine arching up and fur standing on end. He hisses. “Baber!”

  I look to Grim, hesitant. “Grim? Do you know her?”

  “I do.” He narrows his eye lights. “Wait here. I’ll speak to her. Wil, stay with Angelica.”

  “No!” Wil turns and stalks up to the other Reaper without waiting for anyone else, giving Grim no choice but to follow—and giving me no choice but to stand here and wait.

  Chapter Ten

  Grim

  After everything that’s just happened, the last thing I want to deal with is another Reaper—least of all Baber. Though she’s shown her true colors recently, I can’t shake the feeling that her arrival here is a sign of its own; something else terrible is about to happen.

  Wil demands, “What are you doing here?”

  Baber tilts her head to the side, looking down at the little Omen. Her own Omen, Bower, is nowhere to be seen.

  I question it, asking, “Aren’t you missing something?”

  “Bower doesn’t approve of my visit,” says Baber. “Thankfully for you lot, I don’t listen to him. He listens to me.”

  Wil hisses. “Omens don’t need to listen to anyone.”

  “Whatever you want to tell yourself, prince,” says Baber faux-cheerfully. “But I think you know the truth. There’s a reason you’re a little pussy cat right now, isn’t there?”

  “You bitch.” Wil’s spine aches and his hair fluffs up.

  Before he can make a claw-filled swipe at Baber, I lean down and scoop him up. In the same motion, I twist around and sit Wil down behind me. “Please go stay with Angelica. I don’t trust this world not to lead her astray with sweet memories.”

  Defiance flashes in Wil’s gold eyes. Princes don’t like to be told what to do, and that is one part of Wil that has never truly faded away.

  Baber is right, of course. Omens are created so they can learn a lesson. Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they can learn the lesson and still refuse to put it into practice.

  Wil is a little bit of all of that. And right now, that defiance shifts into something else: betrayal. And offense, too, that I would side with Baber and try to make him listen to someone else.

  “Wil,” I say firmly. “She’s scared.”

  Wil hisses at me, too, but he does as I ask and goes back to stand with Angelica. I don’t watch him go, turning back to Baber instead.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand.

  Baber answers, “That’s not really your business. You should be thanking me!” She folds her arms behind her back and rocks forward, her mouth splitting into a smile. “I’ve got a heads up for you!”

  “A heads up,” I say, unable to keep the unease out of my voice. “About the goddess? Did you just forget to tell me something about her?”

  “No, stupid.” Baber laughs. It’s her usual cheery sound. “I came to give you a heads up about your city. It seems like someone’s a little unhappy that you left with the mortal girl.”

  I frown. “Baber, I don’t have time for your games. We’re in the middle of something.”

  “Satania is waiting for you,” Baber sing-songs. She unfolds her arms from behind her back, just so she can reach out and poke me in the chest with one finger. “She’s very unhappy that you brought a mortal into the land of a goddess!”

  “Did you tell her?” I demand.

  Baber pulls back, looking almost affronted at that. At least, I think she does. It’s hard to tell with all of the smoke and shadow covering her facial features. “I didn’t tell her. I told you, I want this to work. For you. For her.” She lifts her voice back up into something cheerful. “But you won’t have much time to think about things, Grim. Whatever decision you’re going to make, I would choose it now!”

  A thought crosses my mind. “How did you get here without your Omen?”

  Baber cocks her head to the side.

  Grim says, “We needed Wil to open the door for us, and we’ll need him to do it again. How did you get here without Bower’s help?”

  “I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” says Baber, with a laugh. “When you reap from worlds uninhabited by mortals, you learn how to get around on your own. Some of them won’t let my Omen into their realms. Fae aren’t very fond of dogs, Grim.”

  She makes a clucking of the teeth. Her voice is light, but there’s something all that childish cheer.

  Baber spins on one foot, so her back is toward me. She folds her arms up behind her head, the fabric of her sleeves sliding down just a little. There are strange notches in her bones, as though sigils have been carved into them.

  I don’t recognize the shapes, but I know they are of old magic. Baber is showing me part of her hand; part of the secrets she carries. It’s a sign of good faith. Look, she’s saying, I’m answering your questions so believe me about Satania.

  And to hell with it all, I do.

  I breathe out in a hard exhale. “All right,” I tell her. “I’ll be careful.”

  “You’re going to need to be more than just careful.” Baber starts to venture away from me. Her steps are large and bouncing, often skipping several of the patchwork squares.

  She’s heading toward a forest made of a thousand different types of trees—some of them spliced into being only partway, and others nothing more than stumps on the ground; the memory of loggers and forest animals alike.

  She adds on, “Good luck, Grim! Hold that mortal of yours close. Satania’s looking to steal her away from you!”

  The lady Reaper doesn’t actually go into the forest, at least not in a way I can see. It’s more like her form ripples and vanishes when she gets close to them. Like she stepped from one memory into another. I wonder, very briefly, if that’s what she’s here for. To revisit her old memories, to see, for a little bit, the love that she lost.

  It must be a sad state of affairs, to see something and not truly have it. The kind of state I’m determined not to fall into myself. Once I’m sure that Baber isn’t about to come back out of the trees, I turn and wave Angelica and Wil back over.

  Angelica picks up a sulking Wil and carries him. “What was that about?”

  “We need to be careful when we get back to the mortal realm,” I inform her.

  “Who was that?” Angelica insists.

  “A friend.”

  Wil snorts, twisting out of Angelica’s arms and landing on the ground. “Is that what we’re calling her now? A friend?”

  “Yes,” I answer matter-of-factly. “If not for Baber, we wouldn’t have made it this far. She doesn’t want anything from us.”

  Wil shakes his head. “You don’t know that. Someone like Baber—Grim, she isn’t helping you for no reason.”

  “You’re right. She’s helping us because she understands what it’s like to suffer a loss this great.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “And how are you so certain? Did you see something and neglect to share it with me?”

  “I should’ve,” snaps Wil. “With how you’ve been treating my omens lately! Arguing with me, refusing to believe them!” The little cat stalks past me, his tail lashing like a whip through the air. “And you’re still questioning me!”

  My teeth snap together. It's unfortunate that he has a point. I’ve done a fair share of being a bad friend and a worse coworker lately. When he presented me with omens, I ignored them and refused to collect any souls. When he told me about the dog and the wind, I tried to argue with him.

  I refused to seek more answers for the omen about my own death, and was left surprised when it came true. Everything that he’s seen has come to pass.

  And yet, I don’t think that Baber really has an ulterior motive here. I think she has just been in my shoes, so to speak, and doesn’t like it when Satania gets her way. In fact, I think that her choosing to help me has more to do with getting back at Satania than giving me a kindness.

  All the same, I gesture at Angelica to follow, and we both do. Wil leads us away from the gate, back to our starting point. He sits down, and I’m once more treated to the display of his magic as it rises out and takes the shape of a golden door, one made purely of light.

  We step through it, waiting in the hallway for Wil to arrive. His anger already seems to be abating, the fur along his spine having settled back down. The hallway is more stable this time around, and the trip to the other end of it seems as though it only takes several steps.